


sad untitled

by creamyoreofillings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Fuck the system, Gen, Human Names Used, M/M, Memory Loss, Sad aad sad, Sadness, Voluntary amnesia, ambiguous beginning, ambiguous ending, everything is ambiguous, is2fg, what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creamyoreofillings/pseuds/creamyoreofillings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ḑ̴̧͈̪̺͈͚̝̦̘̫̖̦͙͖̖̟̞̳̥̳͔͈̘̻̐̿̋̎̽̃̂͒͊̀̆̍́̊̋͂͌̓̾͊̽̎̈́̚̕͘͝͝͝ơ̸̢̡̨̨͍͖͈̟͕̱̝̲̗̳̯̱͔͈̪̙͎͖͖̱͖̲̙̩̒̀̀̆͂̿́̄͊̔̏͛̈́͗̾͌̾̎͐̔̎͐̐̊̉͆͌͋̇͜͝͠͝ͅņ̸̧̛̛̟̼͎̮̦͓̼̳̳͉̣̮̰̗̘̟̣̙̹͖͓͔̳̼̒̓̂͒̂́̋̈́̊̋̆̏̍͋͗͆͗͗̓̓̿̿͊̀̌̇͐̀͜͜͝͠ṱ̵̢̰͈̰͇̗̥͔̙̠̼͍̪͖̰͕͓̝̩͙̯͍̦͇̟͈̿̿̇̂́̉͒̉̄̓͑͋̾͒͒̉̎̈̿̋͒͑̀̚̕͘̕͝͝͠ͅ ̶̡̢̛͈̖̝̗͈͍͕͇̜͍̠͎̳͉̬̦̭͔̦̜͓̫̳͚̑̓͑̽̀̾͆͌͑̍̿̓̐̓̓͒͗̍̀͗́̈̎̕͘͠͝ͅf̵̛̖̯̼̝͎̟͕͓̗̭͈̪̺̦̺̤͎͚̯̼̜͍̫̺̪̒̑̏̑͛͌͗̆̒́̅́͊̽̎̂̄̀͛̒̈́͗̾̚͜͝͝͝ó̴̧̧͕͙̜̥̪̗͈̘̭͓̼͖̠͓̝̰͇̦͎̪̞̫͍͓̜̙͕̞̥̹̓͛͊̐̀̄́͒͌̔͊̋̿̓͒̽̓̚̕̚̚͜͝͝͝͝ŕ̷̢̨̢̡͔̘̺̖̺͍̰̖̯̝̹̤͔̹̞͈̫̪̱̫̗̟̞̭̰̭͇̫̓͆̓͊̊̿́̎͒͗̍̃̈́̔̒̾̐̍̈͗̋̇̀͘̕̕͠͝ģ̷̛̗̙͕͎̘̙̬͓̠̫̳͇̰̬͙͕̯̥͈̖̯̱̺̥̟̝̳͖̉̿̋͐̀́͊̎͋̓̋̇̂́́͒͂̂͌̏̆̑͛̑̕̚͠e̸̡̨̡̡̛͕̟̜̞̬͎̜̠͖̱̳̝̗͓̬͓̣̥̞̝̯̯̫̤̰͋͐̒̎́̈́͐̀̀͌̂̈͒̽̉̍̉͆͋̈́̓͑̐̊͘̕͝ͅţ̸̧̢̧̟̰͖͎͙̝̪͙͍̙̪̜̻͔̻͇͕̤̬̙͙̤͙̤̦̈̔͂̓̊̂́́̍̀̂̅̿̀̓̈̿̐̾͂̈́̓̒́̀͂͐̚͘͝ͅͅͅͅ ̸̨̨̡̨̛̪̦̜̫̲̳̫̠̙̦̠̭̩̯͎͈̳͇̣̠̖̦̭͈̤̱̃̽̊̃̓̊̊̓̄͛̀̀͑͋̿̐̓͐̎͒̎͌̃́͌̍̐͠ͅm̷̧̨͉͖̦͚̦̗̼̠̝͔̜͓̼̦̘͖͉͍͉͕̳̟̮̳̭͙͔̙̱͗̑̆̒̑͋̓́̅̋̌̆̂̓̍̅̍͑̄̈́̔̐̈́̈̚͘̕ͅͅe̸̝̗̝̖̹̱͉̜̻̫͙͍̦̙͕̘̖̘͉̯͙̹̮̯̋̈́͊́́̀͊͌̈́̂͒̆̉͛̋̓͒͗̈̓͛̑̑̒̃̆͛͑͘͜͝ ̴͉͉͙̹͕̞̩̥̪̭̩͔̬͈̳̣̮̹͉̥̮̯̯̖̲̹͓̮̏̉̍͆̌̃̈́͐̅͌̂̈̏̿͂͐̽̀̔̐͂̒̀͂̽́̚͘͘͜͜͝ͅ</p>
<p> </p>
<p>england-centric, and literally what the title says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sad untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Oooooh kay so i did and do somehing fucking stupid and this is the result of me trying to be a writer and do some actual good and update acsaturls but nooOO i, urs truly, did and fucked up my own emotions.

Its all a blank.

 

Arthur stared at the white washed walls again, trying to remember something. When he woke up, he felt terribly fine. He didnt feel anything out of the ordinary. Just feeling… unnerved.

 

Like something’s missing.

 

A doctor comes in, holding a chart and dressed in a white medical lab coat. Arthur doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t flinch or feel surprised at the sudden entrance of the doctor.

 

‘you are well enough to be released, arthur kirkland’ The doctor monotonely states, not looking up from the chart he’s holding. Arthur nods silently, and moves off the bed. He’s not surprised when he’s still wearing his clothes, and not hospital robes.

 

It’s unsettling.

 

Arthur walks out of the room, seeing Francis waiting on a chair along the corridor. He smiles; a small one, and Francis returned it with a large, relieved grin and hugs him tightly.

 

Arthur falters a bit, feeling a distant sense of nostalgia at the large grin and tight hug. He tries to remember where he distantly recalls, only to be given a blank space and a dull throb in his temple.

 

He ignores it instead.

 

‘im so glad youre okay, mon ami’ Francis mumbles into the thick ugly sweater Arthur wears. Arthur looks away, but hugs back loosely. His French friend pulls away, looking at Arthur in the eyes.

 

Arthur can see his blue eyes flickering down to glance at his sweater with… sadness? But it vanished in a split-second, and now he’s smiling at Arthur with a friendly grin.

 

Arthur smiles instead, the dull throb getting a little bit stronger.

 

\---------

 

It felt empty.

 

Francis had said it had been a few days since Arthur had last step foot into his flat, but he said he had cleaned it up while he was gone. That was reasonable enough to believe something unnecessesary in the eyes of others was gone.

 

Still, Arthur feels it doesn’t feel right.

 

He sees the dull grey couch near the telly, bookcases lining the right wall of the living room, the large comfy sofa and coffee table in front of a brick fireplace, and the lone chair near the window facing the serene street.

 

Arthur feels like this is nothing more than a house, not a home. It feels foreign, and something important is missing. It’s not your home, Arthur’s mind states. This doesn’t feel right, it continues. Arthur swivled around to face Francis, only to lock eyes with saddened dull blue eyes.

 

The throbbing gets louder.

 

‘how many days was i gone for?’ Arthur asked, turning away to pick a book from one of the bookcases. Francis says he’s been out for six days, almost seven if he still rested today. Arthur picks out a book, a first-edition Harry Potter book. He senses Francis tense as he takes the book out, opening it to the first page and skimming the book’s contents.

 

Arthur’s hyperaware that Francis is starting to sweat, but continues. As he reached the last page of the book, there was nothing more than blank. The ending was not of his concern. It was the writing on the bottom-most page on the blank one that had caught his interest. It was of flowing script that Arthur recognizes as his own and, before he could read it all, Francis snatched it away fearfully.

 

The throb starts hurt.

 

‘you should get some rest, mon ami’ Francis says, placing the book back into it’s place gently. Arthur stares at the spine, looking ancient but new. The writing was of his own, but he doesn’t remember when he wrote it. When he does try to recall of when, the ground seems to shake in his vision and a loud ring sounds in his ears. He stumbles to the ground, clutching his ears in a futile effort to make the ringing stop.

 

Arthur thinks he’s screaming, yelling desperately for it to stop. He doesn’t remember when he curled up the floor, but he feels Francis shaking his shoulder, calling his name. The ringing died down, and the ground stopping shaking. Arthur evened his breathing out and blinked his vision clear. Francis offered a worried hand and Arthur accepted it. He walked to his bed and bid Francis goodnight. As he laid in his bed, the door opens and closes, signalling Francis had gone home.

 

As he tosses and turns that night, the bed seems to widen and swallow him whole.

 

\---------

 

Its strange to be awake at dusk.

 

Arthur hadn’t been able to sleep, so he stayed up, roaming around his flat. He did everything he could do to ward off boredom. He watched the telly, brewed tea, embroidered, and read some books. He had steered clear of the Harry Potter book, worried that it would happen again. Arthur glanced every so often at the bookcase it resided at, torn between whether to read it again or not.

 

He tells himself to look at it another time.

 

Arthur had got really bored, and sat at the lone chair near the window. He gazed at the street and cityscape, looking at the dark sky filled with city lights and faded blinking stars. He doesn’t see much people out, and the sun starts to rise on the horizon, filling the dark sky slowly with orange light.

 

He then gets an idea, and takes a jacket from the closet. He changes into suitable clothes, and heads off into the street. Arthur steps quietly out of the building and to the street, where the cold early morning breeze makes him shiver, even with a jacket on.

 

The breeze tries to tell him something.

 

Orange light slowly fills up the whole street, and the cold wind picks up a bit. Arthur stands for a bit at the front of the building, feeling the wind nip at him through his jacket. He feels the warm contrast of the sun’s light heat him up, and he feels content to stay that way forever.

 

‘ah sorry’ A stranger suddenly says, and Arthur whirls around to face him. A sharp jolt of pain stabs his head, but he stares frozen at the man, who stares back with scared indigo eyes behind round glasses.

 

He reminds Arthur so much about  _ him _ .

 

The him he tries to forget, the him who he knows is a -he-, the him that he knows bits of him were missing, and the him that shakes his whole world. He remembers, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slowly forming a picture. It stabs him harshly with each completed piece, with each memory that returns to Arthur.

 

He remembers that large goofy grin, the golden color of his hair, the tight hugs he’d give Arthur, the sky blue eyes he fell in love with, the happiness that radiates from him whenever Arthur would give him something, the horrid gifts he’d give Arthur on holidays, and the contentedness that would befall on them while spending a lazy day together.

 

Arthur’s head starts feeling like splitting in two.

 

‘a-arthur.. i-im sorry..!’ Matthew -his  _ brother _ \- stutters out, terrified as tears started to form in Arthur’s scared green eyes. Arthur clamped his palms to his ears, the ringing deafening him and the voices in his mind screamed at him. His head pounds, stabs, throbs his whole being, and vaguely feels the ground.

 

The ground shakes and his eyes feels hot and wet, slowly turning icy as it slid down his face. Arthur can’t hear anything, he hears his breathing erratic and uneven, and it burns his lungs as he tries to heave oxygen in, carbon dioxide out, oxygen, carbon dioxide, oxygen _,carbon **dioxide,oxygen-**_

 

He wants to forget as he remembers his name.

  
  
  


_ Alfred. _

  
  
  


_ Fredrickson. _

  
  
  


_ Jones. _

  
  
  


**‘im sorry’**

  
  
  
Arthur screams as memories flood his mind, drowning him.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically you can decide what happened before and happens after. You can decide if france is in a romantic or platonic relationship with england, or if america died or left him traumatizingly.
> 
> I dont care, but its p obvious i view this as usuk, so england and america are or were in a relationship. Its really up to you about what went down in arties past so yeah. I really wanna hear what you guys think, so you can comment what you think happened between them.
> 
> I wont judge, because i have literally no idea how this fic got to this end.


End file.
